


Blue Eyes and Books

by thewronglong



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 00:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20684438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewronglong/pseuds/thewronglong
Summary: Garak meets a stranger in the replimat.  His interest is peaked when they find common ground.





	1. Chapter 1

Garak was early for his lunch with Bashir. He'd closed up shop early, tired and bored with the whole morning. He had work to do, but nothing that he couldn't knock out within an hour and he had two more days to finish that. He decided that staring at the walls of the replimat would be more pleasant than staring at the walls of his shop, so here he was. 

The replimat was only about half full and hisl table was open. It usually was. The regulars of the place knew it was his and part of avoiding the Cardassian was avoiding his table. Even the ones to either side were usually empty, unless it was a particularly busy day and people didn't have a choice. Today, however, the table next to his was definitely occupied.

A human sat at said table primly sipping tea from a small porcelain cup unlike any he'd seen in the replimat before. The man was reading, not an uncommon practice in the replimat, especially for those who dined alone, but what he was reading was definitely uncommon. The man had in his hand an actual bound book, with pages and everything. Garak was impressed. Even Dr Bashir, who he considered to be the most well read human on the station, read from a PADD. Garak usually did himself. He had books, and if someone asked he'd say he prefers them, but in his current state of exile made them rather hard to come by so he took what he could get. 

Garak watched the man without watching him as he sat down with his own drink, having decided to hold off on eating until his companion joined him. He would have gotten a better view of he'd sat in the opposite seat, but that would be out of habit for the Cardassian and he didn't feel the need to draw attention to himself. He needn't worry about that, the oddity of the stranger was enough of a distraction. He stood out, that was certain. Most humans who came aboard the space station were Federation. He'd checked the station's logs of incoming vessels and their occupants that morning. He didn't remember seeing this man's face on any of the manifests. He would look again that night, but he doubted he'd find any records of the strange visitor. 

"Oscar Wilde." 

Garak jerked his head to the side, the man was addressing him.

"The book, it's Oscar Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray. I couldn't help but notice your interest."

Either Garak's ability to observe someone without it being noticed by said someone was getting rusty, or this was no ordinary scholar. 

"I suppose my interest is more to do with the rarity of seeing someone read from an actual book than the contents within."

"I am rather old fashioned in that regard, I'm afraid. Actually, I'm old fashioned in a lot of ways, at least that is what my partner says. Oh! Dear, where are my manners?" The man stood up.

Garak stifled a sigh as he scooted his chair back to stand as well, taking the human's proffered hand. He wasn't too fond of the human custom of hand shaking, but he found himself not wanting to refuse the man a simple gesture. It helped that the man was either oblivious to the implications of shaking hands with a Cardassian on a vessel in Bajoran space, or he didn't care. 

"Aziraphale" The man smiled with a bright warmth that Garak could only wish he could mimic. He found the man's eyes to be a startling shade of blue. It crossed the Cardassian's mind that this man had also probably gotten similar comments on his eyes that he'd gotten as a boy. Blue was a more common eye color in humans than Cardassians, but this man's eyes were remarkable, to say the least. He refrained, however, from remarking, assuming that the man, like him, had heard enough about his eyes over the course of his life. 

"Aziraphale," Repeated the Cardassian. "No surname?" Strange for a human to only use one name. 

"Aziraphale is sufficient. Mr..?"

"Garak."

"Just Garak?" Aziraphale smiled cheekily.

"Plain and simple, Garak." He smiled back eyes sparkling from mirth. This man was definitely not your average human. He seemed very intelligent for one. Not that humans were generally dumb, but few, aside from Julian, had earned that label so quickly. The lithe of the man's voice also spoke of him being from a similar region as the doctor. Britain, if he recalled correctly. The last impression he got from the man was more instinctive than something so obvious as an accent. Something else he had in common with the stranger.

Aziraphale's handshake was quick, but the feeling Garak got from the touch was curious, to say the least. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, a sense of well being he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. 

"A pleasure to meet you." Said Aziraphale, returning to his seat. "I must say, I am surprised to see a Cardassian on this station. I was under the impression that Cardassians weren't welcome in Bajoran space."

"Yet here I am." Garak sat back, sipping his tea.

"Here you are. Indeed. I did hear rumors, you know, but you know how trustworthy those can be. When your countrymen mentioned that one of their own was here I thought that they were, how does Crowley put it? Taking the piss?" He flapped a hand dismissively.

"May I ask where someone such as yourself would meet my… countrymen?" Garak wasn't totally puzzled by the term, more amused by its usage.

"On Cardassia of course."

This caused Garak's ears to perk up. "It's not very often that humans are allowed passage. How did you find my homeworld?"

"It was lovely, we found the architecture quite intriguing, though I must say we didn't get many chances for tourism." He stopped himself from commenting on the rudeness he'd encountered there, but he'd gotten the books he wanted, and that's what counted. "It was a trip more for business than pleasure, though I did get my hands on some very fine vintages of this lovely drink called kanar."

"Oh, really, what sort of business?" The man didn't look like a diplomat. He wondered what these so called vintage bottles of kanar were actually like. Probably something Quark wouldn't even sell. 

"Books." The man lit up with the word, the brightness of his enthusiasm apparent. "I acquired quite a few on the trip. I'm afraid my Cardassian is lacking, but I am making progress with reading comprehension. Would you like to see?" Aziraphale pulled a leather satchel from under his chair and a pair of white gloves from inside his jacket. He pulled a weathered tome from the bag, the bindings Garak instantly recognized as Cardassian. "This is a first edition, The Never Ending Sacrifice, have you heard of it?"

"Have I heard of it?" Garak looked upon the book with awe. "My father had quite the library, many rare books. He may even have had a brother of this dear fellow under lock and key somewhere. May I?" 

Aziraphale gave a look that instantly changed his face from a cherub to a warrior of God. The flash of righteous anger only lasted a second, but Garak got the distinct impression that this man was more than he seemed. The looked turned again into a sweet smile and Aziraphale cleared his throat "perhaps another time, too much food and drink around you know."

"Ahh, yes, well perhaps I will take you up on that. I do assure you I know how to behave around such precious objects. Do you plan on selling it?"

"Good Lord, no! This is for my private collection. I do run a bookshop, but this," he said, closing the clasps on the satchel, "is special. Crowley says that now that I've started collecting from off planet I'll need to acquire a warehouse to store it all. He can be so dramatic."

"This Crowley is your partner?"

"Oh yes, we've been together, well, forever. Though it took us a great while to actually admit out feelings." Aziraphale's eyes went dreamy and it was a moment before he remembered his conversation. "You may get to meet him, he should be joining me shortly. I probably need to get my meal. He may not eat, but if he does he'll be done startlingly quickly. It wouldn't surprise me to look up one day from my dinner just to see him unhinge his jaw and eat everything in one large bite."

Garak laughed. "I know the feeling. I too am waiting on a lunch companion. I've tried explaining to him the merits of savoring one's food, but I'm afraid the good doctor is a lost cause." 

"A doctor, you say? Perhaps it's a habit developed by the time constraints that come along with the job. One never knows when a medical emergency will happen. What, may I ask, is your profession?"

"Tailor, but I have been known to dabble in other things here and there." Why had he added that? He felt the need, for some odd reason, for honesty with this man. The thought made him uncomfortable to say the least. "I own a clothier on the promenade."

"Really? My last tailor retired a few years back." 57 years, actually. "I'm afraid I'm in need of some alterations. Technically I could let out my own trousers, but I do prefer the work of a professional. Crowley and I will be on station for a few weeks at least, that Quark fellow who owns the bar mentioned something about an auction of rare books and antiques. I do believe he's after my purse strings, but I simply can't resist a good auction. Would you mind if I dropped some things off?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"Oh, good. I must warn you though, I can be very particular. Many of my things are vintage and I'd like to keep the stitching as near to the original as possible."

"I'm sure it will be fine. Perhaps I could manage to talk you into something a bit newer."

"I don't know, perhaps if you could recreate something for me. I find modern styles rather atrocious. It appears as though many young men on Earth these days have taken to wearing carpet samples as outfits." This is one style that Crowley decidedly never kept up with. Mainly because the whole fad was because he'd been the one to replace all of the fabric codes in the replicators of more than a few major universities with upholstery fabric and carpet designs. He was appalled when it caught on. 

"I'm sure something can be arranged. Ahh, would you look at that, it appears that my lunch companion has arrived." 

"How serendipitous, there is my Crowley."

Two sets of blue eyes watched two ganguly figures enter from the promenade, one only a few feet behind the other. 

A smirk appeared on Garak's face as he watched the one call Crowley approach. He seemed as though he had only a slight control of his limbs as he slithered over their way while Garak's own set of knees and elbows headed to the replicators. Oh yes, he thought, he and this Aziraphale had a lot in common indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi, angel," says Crowley, kissing Aziraphale on the forehead. 

"Crowley, my dear, have you gotten everything settled with that Quark fellow."

"Mmk, yeah, crude man, that. He'd give Greed a run for his money, but y'know, Rules of Acquisition and all. Auctions a week from Tuesday, the bloke with the stuff you want was caught up in customs. Took care of it. Also booked us that holodeck."

"Oh, how thrilling! We must get one of our own. What nights?"

"All of em."

"You needn't go to that expense, I can only imagine what he'd charge you."

"Nah, had a bit of a winning streak at dabo, he practically jumped at the trade."

"Crowley.." Aziraphale scolded, but still looked pleased.

Garak, who had been openly watching the exchange, let a small laugh at the implication. He knew the Ferangi didn't always run a straight game and if this man managed to cheat him, well… Quark was lucky he got off with only having to pay out with use of the holodecks. Crowley's head turned slowly in his direction. The Cardassian felt a chill run up his spine. He managed to keep his face unchanged.

"Forgive me. Crowley, I'd like you to meet my new acquaintance, Mr Garak. He's the station's tailor, and soon to be mine as well."

"Is that so?" Asked Crowley, no longer having the air of a cobra about to strike. 

"Indeed," Garak agreed, throwing his winningest smile. "Perhaps you would like to stop by yourself. I have some lovely tholian silk that I think a stylish man such as yourself would enjoy."

An eyebrow arched above dark glasses, "Maybe I will. You'll have your work cut out for you with 'Zira." He turned back to the blond, "Hungry?"

"Famished"

Crowley stalked over to the replicators. Garak watched, fascinated. He never saw someone walk like they were on a runway all the time. The effect he was having on the room didn't go unnoticed either. He did know better than to let his eyes linger for too long. A welcome distraction came in the form of an approaching Bashir. 

"Hello, Garak, I heard the strangest rumor this morning, apparently there's these…"

Garak put up his hand, stopping the Doctor before he could start what could quite possibly be a rumour about two rich strangers throwing their money around Quarks, "sorry to interrupt what I'm sure is a fascinating story, but have you met--"

"Mister Fell!?" Asked Bashir, eyes going wide with shock. 

"Julian, dear boy, how are you?"

"I see you are already acquainted with our Dr Bashir, Mr Fell." Garak emphasized the apparent change of name. 

"Oh yes, he came into my shop not too long ago."

"Not too long?" Scoffed Bashir, "it was more than a decade, I wasn't even in the academy yet." Bashir turned to Garak, "did you know that this man has the hardest to get into bookshop in all of London? It took me months to find him open, figuring out his hours is a job in itself, you should see the sign. I finally gave up, then one day I was walking by and boom, open. I was doubly surprised when he actually let me buy something."

"And how is Gray's Anatomy?" Asked Aziraphale, smiling at the memory of the awkward teenager who wandered in and began talking a mile a minute about the academy and medicine. 

"Still in perfect condition. It's in my office if you want to check."

"I wouldn't have sold it to you if I didn't think you'd care for it."

"I was a celebrity until the end of term because you sold me that book. I did have to show my receipt to a few people before they believed me. You know I've looked all over for biscuits like the ones you gave me that day, but to no avail. That pink icing, I can still taste them."

"I may have some lying around."

Crowley was sauntering back, a shiny black box balanced atop a tray a pot of green tea and a little cup beside. "Here, angel, got one with the little orange bits you like." He put the contents of the tray down with the flourish of a flamboyant waiter. 

"Oh! Thank you, my dear, it looks absolutely scrumptious."

"I'd say," said Bashir, glancing down at his plate of spaghetti. "I didn't know our replimat had sushi."

Crowley chose to ignore a pointed look from the angel as he sprawled across his chair. "My own special code…" he explained. Crowley's relationship with replicators was extensive. At first he just looked upon them as a new and amusing means of trolling people. He and Aziraphale have had many a discussion over whether or not miracled food or replicated food was better. Actually it was Aziraphale who had the most opinions on it, though they both agreed real food was better. In reality there wasn't any difference between the two, the celestials had just been doing by hand the same thing the replicators did, just sooner. Funnily enough, although they were fine moving from place to place with a snap, they avoided transporters. 

The doctor and the angel reminisced for a while, keeping the subject mostly on Soho, London, and eateries within. Crowley was able to contribute a bit to this conversation, but when the subject turned to literature he was content to sit back and listen as the Cardassian joined in the argument. He did have a few choice additions to add when Shakespeare was mentioned. 

"I do believe your problem, Mister Garak, is that you are reading the plays," Aziraphale concluded, "you must see them performed. I say, seeing as we have the holodeck booked already, why don't you both join us for a performance. Crowley has a lovely program of The Globe with many plays to choose from, how bout it?"

"Sounds delightful," Julian accepted giddily, "how bout it, Garak, care to go see a play?"

The enthusiasm of the doctor and the blond was contagious. "I suppose… a night at the theatre would be an interesting endeavor."

"Marvelous!" Aziraphale clapped his hands.

Crowley sat back in his chair, "So long as it's not a gloomy one."


	3. Chapter 3

The one called Crowley had been right about his husband, Garak did have his work cut out for him. The actual consultation was pleasant enough. It was nice to have a customer who had good manners and actually knew what he wanted, well, at first. Aziraphale definitely knew what he wanted, down to the threads, which Garak found surprisingly hard to find. The man had very specific tastes. Garak found himself researching human fashions from well before warp technology, some before what they called the internal combustion engine. He'd had some experience with outdated human fashions, mostly for costumes for the holodeck, but with those he could cheat, as long as they looked good to the naked eye most of the wearers didn't give a targ's right tooth how they were constructed. 

The challenges of creating clothing for the man, as frustrating as it was, had become a matter of pride. A matter of pride. He also, though he didn't admit it to himself, reveled in the reactions he'd received from the man for his work. But now, as closing time approached, his eyes were starting to cross, and he was getting tired of staring at the garish pattern the man called tartan, so he decided to call it a night. 

He was headed to the door to lock up when he saw Doctor Bashir approaching, his arms full binders, a book, and a stack of padds. "My dear doctor, what in the stars do you have there?"

"Research," Bashir said, dropping the pile on his work table.

"And you decided my shop was the perfect place to conduct such research?"

"Well, it has to do with you. Or, should I say with our mutual acquaintance."

"You mean Fell."

"A-zira-fell. That's the name he gave you, am I correct?"

"Yes, and your point?" Garak had his own suspicions about the pair. He'd checked the rosters of docking ships the night before their arrival, it was clearly not listed. Yet that afternoon there it was, clear as day, saying they'd arrived at 21:37 the evening before, well before he'd checked. When asked about the discrepancy, the officer on duty just answered blankly that of course she had entered it in the logs, what ever did he mean?

"My point is," Bashir said, pulling a large manilla envelope out of a tattered folio, "this." From the envelope he removed a practically ancient magazine. Through the plastic dust cover Garak could make out the word "Pride"

"This magazine is pre World War III, I acquired it, well," he blushed, "from a very grateful patient. It's priceless." Carefully, as if the pages would crack and turn to dust, he opened the magazine. The page he wanted was already marked. "I have taken images, but I thought showing you the real deal would have more impact. There." He pointed to the image on the page.

There, surrounded by people and multicolored flags, was Fell. He looked exactly the same, even down to the suit, save for having a bit more color in his tie. "I noticed this right away, but having never met the man Crowley I didn't notice this at first." He flipped to another page. This photo was not as close up as the last, but the fiery red hair and sunglasses were unmistakable. So we're longs legs sticking out of a short leather skirt, corset top, and what could be a collar, it was hard to tell. He… she?.. was standing on a stage, yelling into a bullhorn, the crowd below apparently enthusiastic about what they had to say. Upon closer inspection white hair and part of a cream colored jacket could be spotted in the crowd. 

"I must say, the resemblance is uncanny." Garak admitted. 

"There's more. I have references here going back to the 20th century. Most of them I acquired in my initial study of the bookshop. You see, A.Z. Fell and Co. has been a topic of speculation among students for… I dare say, centuries. When I said I was a celebrity for even getting in the building I was not exaggerating. It's nearly impossible. The rumors, strangely enough, seemed to have been forgotten on a multitude of occasions, and memories of the place by anyone over, say, sixty, are muddled at best. Some of the oldest references from fragments of the original internet that existed before world war three suggested that the bookshop was owned by some sort of cryptid. There's even a much argued over story about it burning to the ground once then being back the next day. You ought to see the inside of the shop, it's amazing, like some Victorian holo-program. Wall to wall antiques. I'm not even going to go into the theories pertaining its survival of the war. 

"My point, Garak, is that this Mr Fell, and his companion Mr Crowley, are not human."

"It seems so, though from all appearances it seems they have made Earth their home."

"Yes, but what are they? El-Aurians seem to be my best guess. What I'd give for a few drops of their blood."

Garak looked over at the pile of tartan cloth that had been shoved to the end of the table, a pincushion sitting atop. "perhaps that can be arranged."


	4. Chapter 4

Seriously, angel, a ruff? I doubt it'd even fit around his neck. He's a Cardassian, for someone's sake."

"It's not for him, It's for Julian. From what that Quark fellow told me he prefers to dress for the holodeck. I've copied something of yours that should fit him with minor adjustments, mainly turning it from black to blue, but I'm sure it will be suitable, although you are just a bit taller. Im sure Garak can fix it."

"And what about the tailor? What makes you think he'd even consider such a lark?"

"It's not as if it's required, but I'll just explain that it would be just another part of the immersion. I will simply drop off something for him when I bring the doctor's costume in. He may surprise you."

"Another thing, what makes you so all fire sure that I'm putting on a doublet?"

Aziraphale laughed him off and went back to his book.

"Fine, but I won't like it."

The angel smiled to himself, knowing that the demon would not pass up a chance to dress up.j

"I just don't understand, my tricorder reads it as human, but when I take a closer look it still, for all purposes human, but something is off."

"Are you suggesting they are augments?"

"No, I know what that would look- no, they are not augments. Besides, that wouldn't explain the longevity."

"Hmmm, any other ideas?"

"I'm afraid to even consider the older theories from previous investigators, most are laughable at best, some even going so far as to call them witches or demons."

"Demons?"

"Occult beings from an old Earth religion, multiple religions actually, but they were essentially based around similar concepts."

"It seems to me, considering the recent event with your Captain and the Bajoran's prophets, that such an idea may not be as far-fetched as you think."

"Are you saying that they're some sort of demons, evil creatures come up from the depths of hell to steal souls for Satan?" Bashir smiled as he said it, the who idea of Mr Fell being a demon made him want to laugh out loud.

"Perhaps not, but are there other similar entities that hail from Earth that would fit their descriptions?" 

"I'm not sure, I suppose I will be digging out my copy of the Quran later."

"Do it tonight because tomorrow we have plans."

"Ah, yes, Shakespeare at the Globe. I must admit I'm quite looking forward to it."

"You haven't seen what they expect us to wear."


	5. Chapter 5

"But they're not the same as the ones you wore then!" Whined Aziraphale, trying to get Crowley to change his glasses. 

"I can't go around wearing those tiny things. People will see!"

"What if they do? If you haven't noticed it's not like you would stand out. We are not on Earth, my dear, you don't really have to wear them at all. Even on Earth people would just assume you're just another alien. I suppose in a way we've always been."

"Speak for yourself, I don't know what Cochrane did when he flew that ship, but something changed."

"Yes dear." Aziraphale had heard this rant before. 

"I wasn't supposed to be allowed back in the stars. Not after I fell." He stalked over to point to a generic painting of Bajor that was trying very hard to serve as decoration for the guest quarters but was failing miserably. "Look at it! When I made it there was no way it would sustain life!"

"She had other projects in the works, she is ineffable, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, but The Prophets? What are they even? Not angel, not aliens, at least what I'd call aliens."

"Then what would you call the Q?"

"Arseholes."

"Crowley, we don't have time for this, are you wearing these or not?"

"Fine, but I'm growing my hair."

"Oh, goodie! I do so love it long, but can we forgo the beard?"

They met the doctor and the tailor in Quark's at a quarter to eight. Lieutenant Dax was already there wearing a wide grin and teasing Bashir about his costume, particularly his ruff. She didn't dare say a word to the very uncomfortable looking Cardassian at his side. In fact, she thought he looked rather dashing. The shining green and silver fabric brought out his skin tone and after some minor adjustments, mostly to make the neckline more appropriate, or inappropriate depending on who you asked, for his species. 

Jadzia hung around with the appearance of teasing Julian, but in reality she wanted a chance to meet these oddball strangers that everyone, especially Quark, had been talking about. 

The couple approached as if their outfits were as common as her Starfleet uniform. She admired their confidence. The smirk the tall one held made her own appears, there was something familiar about him, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. 

Introductions were made and drinks were had and Crowley's brain screamed out when he heard the name Dax, he'd heard that name before. There was a gymnast… Emony, he thinks her name was, who he'd met at a party once. She'd seemed very interested in his walk, and had said so after a few drinks. He had to admit, she had been very tempting. He had considered bedding her. He and Aziraphale had an Understanding, but when he noticed the young McCoy eyeing her from across the room he couldn't help but do a little temptation of his own, putting the two together, for the night at least. He must have been successful, because he didn't see either of them for the rest of the night.

He was aware of the longevity of the troll, at least for the parasitic worms they seemed to have no problem joining with. The Dax in front of him seemed to recognize him, but said nothing, much to his relief. Still, he thought, the less interaction the better, and soon, almost rudely, dragged his party off to the holodeck.

Garak and Bashir noticed Crowley's eyes right away. They made eye contact over shared drinks, both now certain he was no human, but they hadn't tested his DNA. He never went in for a fitting and the tailor never had the chance for an "accidental" pinprick. 

The play was entertaining, even though three out of four of the non holographic spectators knew the play word for word. Two by the countless times they've seen it and one by sheer brainpower. Garak had to admit that Shakespeare was more entertaining to watch than to read, although he still found it rather insipid, but it was a human play, so what could one do? He was sat beside Aziraphale, who seemed to be eating the whole thing up. He would even call back to the stage with the rest of the audience, entranced. He wondered if Julian knew that he was moving his lips along to the actor's speeches. Garak found watching his companions to be more interesting that what went on onstage. 

When it was time to leave he took Bashir's arm much the same way that Aziraphale took Crowley's. He decided that watching the doctor's cheeks flush a deep red was the most entertaining part of the evening.


	6. Chapter 6

After the show Garak found himself lured to the couple's guest quarters by the promise of a sampling of a very rare and very fine vintage of kanar.

"I must admit," spoke the spy turned tailor, "that I was skeptical that this would be, what do humans say 'the real deal'?" He held up his Crystal tumbler and watched as the dim light of the room managed to sparkle in the tiny bubbles caught in the thick liquid. The liquor was thinner than the sludge that Quark passed off as kanar and shone a bright almost iridescent green. "However did you come across such a treat?"

"It's easy when money is not a problem. Greed is a useful sin." Said Crowley.

"We were helping the dear boy, his father's death left his family in a great deal of debt. It was quite a boon that he found the key to the cellar just as we were about to leave." Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, pleased with the remarkable alien liquor. The other eleven bottles were already sitting tucked away in the hold of the Bentley turned spacecraft alongside a cask of blood wine and several bottles of Romulan ale. 

"A fine miracle that." Answered Crowley, sitting down his glass. "'m gonna change, never liked puffy pants, me. Too… puffy." He disappeared into the other room.

"He's got the right idea." Julian was reaching behind his neck, removing the ruff he wore and sitting it to the side. "As nice as these costumes are I must admit they are kind of hot."

"I'm sorry dear, we do keep our quarters rather warm. Crowley does prefer it that way and I have gotten used to it over the years."

"How long have you two been together?" Asked Garak, who was trying to ignore Julian Workin free the buttons on his top directly to his right. 

"Oh…" Aziraphale smiled fondly, "forever. At least it seems that way."

"How very charming."

The angel wiggled in his seat and sipped his kanar. "He is, quite."

"I'm sure. How did you meet?"

"The… usual way. That is to say we were in a garden. Public gardens I mean. I was apple tree duty."

"Angel…" an annoyed Crowley groaned from the other room.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but continued. "There was a rainstorm and I sheltered him with my… umbrella." 

"So you were a gardener?"

"Only for about eleven years. Crowley is much better with plants, though his methods are, I dare say, unusual."

Crowley came back in the room barefoot and wearing only jeans and a black silk shirt with only a couple of buttons done. Garak found it a tad scandalous to wear so little in front of company, but then he noticed Bashir's current attire and had to stifle a gasp. He had stripped down to his grey Starfleet issue t-shirt and the tights that went along with the costume. He averted his eyes and took a gulp of kanar. 

The conversation turned to gardening and before they knew it the bottle of kanar was gone and replaced with a bottle of Pinot noir and a charcuterie board was placed on the coffee table. 

It took Crowley going into a very amusing rant about how stuck up succulents are for them to realize how drunk everyone had gotten. Even Garak, always conscious about pacing himself, was rather tipsy. He was forced to admit to himself he was quite enjoying himself. Good food, intelligent conversation, well, for the most part, and excellent beverages, it was turning into quite a night. 

He did find himself having to escort a sloshed doctor out of the couple's quarters when Crowley started yawning. He laughed as he half carried the doctor to the door. "I suppose I'm forced to take responsibility for this supposed adult, otherwise I fear he will end up asleep in the corridor. I do thank you for a lovely evening."

"Yes…" slurred Julian as he hung off of the Cardassian, "you sure know how to have a good time, for an angel and a demon."


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, fuck," said Crowley and snapped his fingers. The human slumped to the floor, his face blank and waiting. The Cardassian stood staring as well.

"Oh, dear. Is that really necessary?" Asked Aziraphale as he went to stand beside the demon in front of the entranced pair. 

"What? You want to let them go jabbering what we are around the station? Oh, ah, yes, sure, Captain Sisko, we're just two celestials on a vacation to Cardassia cause this sector's going to shit and Aziraphale wants their books. Nope nothing to do with your prophets, just a bit of fun pre war book hoarding."

"Please, we both know they're safer with me." 

"It's all fun and games until they want some good old fashioned divine intervention."

"You act as if we're the only ones with powers in the universe. I would think that if they really wanted that kind of help that they'd as that Q-"

"Shhht" interrupted Crowley, "don't go mentioning him again. You say his name too many times he may show up like Bloody fucking Mary."

"You know that's a myth."

"Wanna try it?"

Aziraphale looked startled, sighed, and decided to get back to brass tacks as they say, "what do you propose we do about them?"

"Tell 'em we had a good time, but were a bit boring? Maybe they'll leave us alone."

"I must say, I'm a bit surprised it was the doctor who found us out. I thought that it would have been our spy friend here."

"An Obsidian Order operative would know better than to go spouting off at the mouth as soon as he figured us out."

An astute observation, thought Garak, as he stood watching the pair bicker. Oh, the magic had worked on him for a minute, clogging his brain with serotonin and cotton fluff, and for an instant he would have done anything they'd asked. He wasn't sure if it was his training, a strong will, or his Cardassian physiology that helped push his mind past the blocks of the spell. He'd worry about that when he wasn't trying his best to not move or otherwise show any signs that he was listening.

Aziraphale approached to examine the doctor and pulled him from where he leaned against Garak's right leg to a better position up against the nearby door. "He didn't seem to put off by the idea, I'm sure he'd keep our little secret if he asked."

"You don't know that. He's a pup, looking to please. All he'd have to do is tell old Dax and it'd be all over the station."

"I think," said Aziraphale, gazing into the human's blank eyes, "that he might be better at keeping secrets than you think."

"What do you mean?"

"This boy is an augment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think of Q like Beetlejuice, you say his name 3 times and he appears. This may not be true, but Crowley isn't risking it.


End file.
